


The Man That I Used To Be

by Dotdotbeepdot



Series: Hobo Dark and Afro Wilford [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Can I really say that?, Darkstache more implied, Depends on what you think is light, Gen, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It will happen later, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sensory Overload, Takes place pretty much right after DAMIEN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dotdotbeepdot/pseuds/Dotdotbeepdot
Summary: "He didn’t dwell on the past for long, vengeance driving him forward. He couldn’t be distracted by the future, he needed to find Mark, he needed to find Mark."Damien wakes up right after the events of DAMIEN and is off to finish what Celine has started. On the way, he runs into an oddly familiar friend.





	The Man That I Used To Be

**Author's Note:**

> SO I had this idea that Dark and Wilford meet back up after WKM after the events of DAMIEN. But also Dark looked like shaggy little hobo Damien and Wilford looked like how he did in WMW and i fucking loved the idea. so I made it and it WILL be a series for expect more.

Damien shot awake, breathing heavily and shakily. A sharp ringing stabbing against his skull as he shook. He looked around desperately, his sister’s name forced from his lips. Damien was in a small, one room cabin, a fireplace against the wall opposite to him. He was sitting on a thin, ratty bed that smelled like death. Where the hell was he? Where was Celine? William? Mark? 

He froze, labored breaths hitching to a stop. 

Mark, the manor, he had  _ died. _ Damien―no that wasn’t his name, God what was his name―pushed himself up from his bed. He worked on controlling his breathing before heading to the door.

It was spring―  _ where was he _ ― and the land was barren. Tree stumps littered the wet grass like stepping stones. He remembered chopping down trees for what felt like centuries in his… dream? Was it all just a dream? Every step Damien seemed to take sucked the color out of the grass. A few more steps away from that cursed cabin and he checks behind him to see if he killed the newly woken grass. He doesn’t think he could live with himself killing more plants. Then again, the haunting absence of a heart beat proved that he was already dead. Once it was confirmed that the grass wasn’t dead, Damien took off. He had a hero to find.

The empty fields were much shorter than when Damien was asleep. He walked for 10 minutes  _ at least  _ to find a road. He stopped just short of the road, surprised. The cars speeding by were colorful and bigger, boxier. How long has he been asleep? He didn’t dwell on the past for long, vengeance driving him forward. He couldn’t be distracted by the future, he needed to find Mark.  _ He needed to find Mark. _

He walked along the road for about 30 or so minutes, he really had no concept of time after so long in a dream. Damien walked as if in a trance, eyes glazed over and the darkness surrounding him shuddered with each step, weak and tired. He truly looked like the undead, risen for Judgement Day.

A car, bigger and boxier then the others, with blinding colors and ‘Peace and Love’ splashed carelessly on the side, slid up beside Damien.

“Hey man, need a ride into town?” the driver asked. Damien only stared at the man, he had hair and a beard that could rival his own shaggy, unkempt look. “You don’t look so hot.”

A few more moments of silence and staring, before the darkness leaped forward, flying through the closed window and wrapping itself around the man. Color drained from his face as the darkness sucked it out. The man choked and struggled, but didn’t stand a chance as the thing crushed his neck, bones and blood vessels popping as the struggling stopped.

He was dead.

The darkness whipped back to Damien and, in turn, he stumbled back. His breath was stolen from his dead lungs as he stared with wide, horrified eyes at the body. He had killed him.  _ He had killed him. _ Damien understood now when Celine said that she has done terrible things when awake.  _ He had killed someone. _

He shook himself free of his horror as his body dragged him towards the driver’s seat. Damien pushed the dead body away, shoving him onto the floor in the back of the vehicle, and taking his place at the steering wheel. Damien hasn’t driven in such a long time, since he was a kid he believed, but he remembered enough from what his father and taught him. He hit the gas and jerked forward, a car driving past honked at him and flipped him off as he almost crashed into them. He was always an awful driver anyway.

Damien drove for what he assumed was a few hours, the grey skies slowly turning black was the only indication of time he had. The radio man― which was much easier to hear than when he had a radio― was playing another hideously noisy song, much different from the jazz and swing from his day. He would turn it off if he wasn’t so afraid of the deafening silence, making his mind wander to everything that happened to him. He really didn’t like thinking of all this chaos that everyone in his life seemed to understand but him. Damien was only driving to find a town, to rest and get his bearings, before going after Mark.

There were more people then he had expected when he arrived into a town, lining up on the sidewalks to get into loud buildings with bright colors flashing through the windows. He parked on the side of the road and dumped the car, throwing the keys back to the rotting man. Damien looked around for any place he could possibly stay in. He caught sight of one building without people lining up at the door. In fact, there wasn’t even a man guarding it like the others had. He moved closer, cautious. No music was blaring and no lights were flashing. He deemed it safe to enter and opened the door, closing it quickly behind him.

He regretted it immediately.

It was almost like as soon as Damien turned around, the room exploded in colors and music like every other place around. In his shock at the sudden  _ onslaught  _ to his brain, his hands shot up to grip at his hair, clawing at his ears to try and quiet the noise even slightly. His back hit the door behind him, but only for a moment, before someone opened it and pushed him deeper into this hell. He ran into two girls dancing with each other and they stopped in surprise before quickly running off in fear. Damien continued to stumble through the crowd, trying to find somewhere out of here, until he crashed into a very brightly colored man. The man caught him before he could fall, maneuvering him into a dip as if they were dancing.

Damien tried to open his eyes to look at him, but everything physically hurt and he could barely keep them open. His hands left where they had grabbed onto the man’s arms for balance to try to cover his ears, eyes shut tightly and hunching forward in the mans hold.

Until everything went quiet and he was in a bed instead of someone’s arms. Did he pass out? Did Celine take back control to save him? He slowly opened his eyes, this time seeing a water damaged ceiling with cracks as it met the walls. 

He sat up slowly, trying to ignore the harsh headache that made the darkness lash out. Looking around, it looked like he was in a rather unkempt motel room, covered in stains, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was sitting on bedbugs right now. There was empty and half empty bottles of booze surrounding the floor and some suspicious looking pills scattered around as well, there was even blood in one corner near the bathroom. This didn’t look too good for him.

He heard a clink of glass and a grunt by his side and his head snapped over to see a man staring at him. No, not just any man, he looked all too familiar to be some stranger, but Damien didn’t want to believe the name that crossed his mind as he saw those red-rimmed, brown eyes. The man had curly, messy dark brown hair that looked matted down against his forehead from sweat. He had a dark brown mustache, bushy and tipped pink. His clothes were a pink dress shirt with yellow pants, both pastel and ruffled. He brought a bottle up to his lips and chugged the drink before placing it on the end table next to him. He leaned back and stared at Damien for awhile.

“Do I know you?” He had a thick drawl to his voice that made Damien’s chest ache. The man was awful quiet, he almost sounded afraid of the answer to come.

Damien tried to swallow past the lump in his throat before responding. “You might, old friend.” His voice also came out quiet, either from the lack of use or because of the present situation. “William―”

Damien didn’t even get to finish as William got up from his chair and grabbed another bottle from the floor, laughing sharply and he took a swing only to find it empty. 

“Nice for you drop by, Damien,” he tossed the drink back to the floor before trying another. Empty once again. “Haven’t seen you in, when was the party again? The 20’s? I believe that’s what the detective had said…” He tried again, and again it was empty.

“Abe?”  _ He had survived? _ “Will―”

“That’s not my name anymore, my dear friend,” this time, he picked up a pill and looked at it closely before shaking his head and tossing it over his shoulder. “I go by Wilford now. Wilford Warfstache.” He gave Damien a wide― much too wide― smile before grabbing another bottle from the floor, this time full. He let out a happy little hum at that before taking another swing and crashing in a chair, now on Damien’s other side. “I assume you have a different name as well, Damien?”

William―no, Wilford still thought he was the same. He was hesitant to tell Wilford that Damien was gone, that he wasn’t him, hell, he wasn’t even Celine or the DA. He shook his head slowly, long hair getting in his face, but not daring to move to brush it away in fear of Wilford reacting badly.

Wilford smiled again―  _ too  _ wide,  _ too much  _ teeth― taking another swing of the alcohol. “Hmm, mind if I name you myself? If it wasn’t obvious, I am pretty damn good at names.” 

He puffed his chest out and made a motion of pulling at some invisible suspenders. The aching feeling grew in his chest as he watched the familiar action. His friend really was broken beyond repair wasn’t he?

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a name…” A name for the new monster the two siblings have become.

Wilford looked at him up and down, a surprisingly serious look on his face as he went through his options. 

“Well,” He leaned back in his chair, taking another swing from the bottle. “Considering the whole vibe you having going on with the black and white hobo clothes and that stench of what could only be rotten flesh,” Damien glared, feeling the darkness around him lashed at the man, but Wilford looked unphased. “I’d say Dark.”

Damien― no,  _ Dark―  _ smiled as well at his new friend. “Very well, Wilford,” his gaze hardened, as it seemed the new name changed his very soul. “Dark it is.”


End file.
